Celebrity Takedown
by SimbaSalgo
Summary: Murdoc wants more than anything to be in a successful band, but every one he's formed seems to fail miserably. Then, one day, he's confronted by a mysterious figure that promises fame and fortune. He agrees to his terms. What follows is one of the most interesting bands of all time. The story is told primarily from Murdoc's perspective.
1. Anything?

"Really? You can't hit a simple chord, Tiny? Really. It's like you expect me to do all the work! What've we been practicing for? Lunkheads, the lot of you! Stupid, worthless..."

Murdoc Niccals, self-proclaimed musical genius, was having a rough time with his newest band, Murdoc and the Niccals. It certainly wasn't the first time. At 31, he had plenty of experience with failure. Nothing was going to plan. He was supposed to have a fantastic band by age 22, become a worldwide phenomenon by age 25, and have his own clothing line by age 27! He had spent his entire life trying to make a success! Surely, after all his time and effort, he should be rewarded?

He knew it wasn't his fault. He was charming, sexy, and simply brimming with talent. His other band members? Not so much. He gazed at them now, standing limply with their instruments, mouths drooling with stupidity. Murdoc had spent weeks trying to find them, to no avail it seemed. This band looked to be his biggest failure since This Show Is Cancelled.

Billy Boy and Tiny stood with their guitars, waiting for his command to start playing them again. Billy Boy was thin, lanky, and more than a bit awkward. Murdoc had found the sorry fellow crying in a dumpster, lamenting the loss of his pet crocodile, Steve. Billy had joined simply to get his mind off the tragedy. He rarely took the band seriously and often attempted to eat while playing guitar, which didn't fare very well. Tiny was, ironically, a massive man, with colossal hands and arms. Was there a problem with his large size? Not really, except for the fact that he broke every instrument he attempted to play.

Crunch had fallen asleep near his drum set. Murdoc groaned. There was an interesting story as to how he found him. One day, Murdoc was out drinking when he spotted a handsome man drinking next to him. He somewhat remembered asking him about his favorite bands, which led them to talking about playing drums. The man agreed to play in Murdoc and the Niccals. Only after the alcohol had worn off did he realize that Crunch was actually rather ugly, and knew nothing about music.

Rocky was easily Murdoc's favorite band member, besides himself, of course. The two knew each other from their reckless High School days. Murdoc had hastily brought him in to play the keyboard after no one else had auditioned for the part. He convinced himself that Rocky was a natural at it, and only needed a bit of practice to hone his skills. Right now he still needed to learn the difference between the black keys and the white keys, but other than that, he was progressing nicely.

The day's work had given Murdoc a headache. The basement they were playing in had good acoustics, which was great if the music one was playing was actually decent, but not so great if one was playing the music of hell. The screeching of guitars and banging of drums were bouncing around in his head, threatening to make him lose his sanity. He decided enough was enough.

"Alright, I've made a decision," Murdoc stated. "We're not playing on Saturday night." No one seemed to care. He quietly crept upstairs, slamming the door on his way out.

"Stupid, brainless gits!" he roared. "That's the last straw! If I have to spend one more second with those morons..."

He needed to get out of the house for a while. Heading outside, it was nice to hear noises that weren't grating on his eardrums. Birds were chirping, a light breeze blew from the south, and cars passed by idly on their way to work. Taking a seat on a nearby bench, Murdoc sighed and reviewed his options.

He could devote his time to creating another band, but at this point, it seemed to be a waste of his effort. Murdoc's Burning Sensations, Patchouli Clark, Kiss 'n' Make Up, Bullworker, Crimson Backdraft, Motley Dude, The Stupid Name Gang, Durango 95, Two's A Crowd. All of them had been complete failures. He could get a job, but how would he go about doing that? Being a satanist didn't leave many opportunities for work.

It wasn't fair! This was his lifelong dream! To be in a band, loved and respected, the voice of a generation!

"I'd do anything to be famous!" he shouted to himself.

"Anything?"

The voice startled Murdoc, causing him to lose his balance and fall off the bench. Craning his neck to the direction he thought the voice had come from, he found himself facing a dark alley between two tall buildings. He blinked a few times before looking again.

"I've finally done it," he muttered. "I've finally lost my mind. I'm hearing things."

"No, Murdoc," The voice was a faint whisper, just barely audible. "You're getting your wish. Just come here and accept it."

If Murdoc hadn't been driven by desperation, then perhaps he would have never listened. But alas, he did, and one of the biggest regrets of his life came into fruition. After checking to see that no one was looking, he darted into the alleyway.


	2. Dancing With The Devil

Murdoc walked cautiously along the alleyway. The walls of the buildings to his left and right were incredibly close together, creating a narrow path that made movement difficult. He cursed himself as he continued forward. What was he doing, being led into a dark and isolated space where no one could see him, by what sounded like a scary and mysterious figure? Thinking further on the matter, Murdoc decided that anything would be better than playing more music with those brainless baboons.

It was a cold November day. The wind was cool and relentless. Murdoc cursed himself again, this time for not thinking of bringing a coat with him. His breath formed thin, white clouds of evaporation that rose slowly into the night sky. But it wasn't the weather that chilled him to the bone.

"Yes, come closer... I'd like to discuss something with you..."

The words spoken by the disembodied voice were drawn out and could just barely be heard. Murdoc wondered who could possibly want to discuss something with him. There was a reason he was always in a sour mood. He'd never received any love in his life, not even from his family. Of course, there was that bartender... but she had been too drunk to realize he was only nine years old. He tried not to think about it too much.

"You're almost there... keep going..."

Suddenly, the cool breeze disappeared. Murdoc was no longer cold, and the snow that had began to pile up in the alleyway melted. It was strange, but he had seen stranger. Walking at a brisk pace, he halted when he reached the end of the road. Literally, as the ground that had led him here no longer existed, a large pit standing where the end of the road should have been.

"Odd..."

A flight of stone stairs spiraled down to the bottom of the pit. Murdoc peered down, unable to make out who could possibly be down there. He hurried down the steps, anxious to meet him face to face. In his state of desperation, he didn't think twice about the risk of danger or the consequence of his actions. He just wanted a band that didn't sound like a group of dying hyenas.

Murdoc reached a small platform, fire blazing from the depths of the surrounding pit. At the end of this labyrinth of heat stood a solitary figure in a jet black cloak.

"Hello, Murdoc..."

He turned to face the satanic bassist, whose mouth hung open in awe. The man had no visible facial features, save for two glowing red eyes that seemed to stare into the very depths of his soul. He laughed in a low and malicious manner.

"Yes... I've been expecting you... You need me... I am your savior... I will give you life... You know who I am."

"Uhh... you're a Jawa?"

The figure laughed again, this time very loudly.

"Of course not... I've been listening to your prayers, Murdoc... you wish for my assistance..."

Sudden realization came across Murdoc's face. He quickly bowed before him, kissing the ground and mumbling satanic words of worship.

"Oh, Satan! I've been waiting for the day you would reveal yourself to me! Please forgive my acts of goodness! Please give me the strength to sin some more!" He gazed up at his bright red eyes. "You wish to make a proposition with me?"

Seeing that Murdoc had properly taken hold of his bait, Satan continued his evil intentions. "Yes. I've noticed how you wish to play in halfway-decent band."

Murdoc's eyes glowed with appreciation.

"Well I won't let you."

If there had been an orchestra in the background playing triumphant music, it would have screeched to a halt. Murdoc sank to the ground in disappointment.

"But... I don't understand... I've been working so hard and..."

Satan uttered another booming laugh. "Yes, I won't let you. But I will allow you to play in a truly great band. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Murdoc quickly perked up. "Oh, thank you, O Holy Lord of Badness! I promise to continue your work on the-"

"There's something you must promise me first, however."

"Yes, anything!"

Satan spoke clearly, intent on making sure Murdoc understood every word.

"I want you to kill your band mates after your first album."

This shocked Murdoc into silence. Sure, he had done horrible things in the past, but murder? The taking of lives? What an awful thing to do. What an unbelievably wretched and evil practice to partake in. Could he really stoop that low?

"I'll do it."

Yes. Yes he could.

He shook Satan's hand.


	3. Enter Stuart Potts

Keyboard World was a wonderful place for musicians of all ages to discover their hidden talent. It was a tiny little shop, no bigger than a store at the mall, but the true value of the place was found in the quality keyboards and genuine love of music the employees shared. Along the back wall were dozens of keyboards, carefully packaged and ready for whatever rhythmic challenges the musician at hand presented them with. This was the big ticket item here, but one could also purchase albums from various musicians in the aisles, some of which dated back to the good old days of classic rock and roll.

It was every musician's dream to work here. So, naturally, Stuart Potts considered himself lucky to be behind their checkout counter on that fateful day, greeting people who walked in and out of its silver doors. From the grin that lay plastered on his face, it was evident that he enjoyed his job. Stu was a lanky young man, with bone-thin arms and legs, a scrawny head, and spiky blue hair. He didn't like the way he looked, glancing at his awkward figure every morning in disdain. He did, however, like his eyes. They were like large blue glittering globes that peered at the world in a constant state of curiosity, drinking in every detail of the outside world.

What he lacked in machismo was made up for in pure, unadulterated passion for the things he loved. Music enveloped every aspect of his youthful life. Stuart remembered how his dad customized his Casio VL-1 keyboard for him when he was only six years old. He looked back fondly at all the countless hours he had spent playing it, experimenting with different sounds, letting the music flow through and define him. It saddened him to the point of tears when it broke. When he went to Keyboard World to buy a new one, it opened the doors to an exciting job opportunity.

He's worked here ever since, passing the hours in a haven of sound and artistry. Since he was the only one who worked the afternoon shift here, the large speakers in the corner of the room were all his. Oftentimes he would put a record on and recline in the chair behind the counter, listening with eyes closed. Sometimes customers would even discuss the music playing in the background with him, and they would go on and on about which bands they liked best, which era of music they though was the greatest, and continue until the customers in the back of the line shouted at them to hurry up. Stuart loved being around people who could speak his language, who shared his passion.

There was only one thing he loved in his life more than music, and at that instant, she was heading toward the counter with an album clutched in her hands. At the sight of Paula, Stuart stopped slouching, straightened his hair, and smiled a wide smile that stretched from ear to ear.

"Hello, Sir," said Paula, who returned his smile. "I'd like to purchase this record." She spoke in a thick British accent, which made her sound both intelligent and incredibly sexy. The album she was holding was one of his favorites: The debut record from his favorite band, The Human League. How had she managed to find something so obscure? He had searched his whole life to find a copy that didn't sound like a bus had run over it! But here, in her hands, was the exact piece of music he'd been looking for half his life, and in pristine condition no less. Paula couldn't have simply grabbed it off the shelf of Keyboard World. She must have searched for a very long time...

Stuart immediately understood what she was playing at. Even if he wasn't the most graceful of human beings, he could be pleasantly romantic when the occasion called for it.

"Oh," said Stuart, smirking. "That'll be one kiss please."

Paula gave him a long, deep kiss.

"I thought we could listen to it tonight by the fire," she said, then added, "And then do some fondue-ing."

She giggled, waiting for Stu's response. Her words seemed to please him.

"That sounds delicious!"

Paula leaned across the counter, flirtatious. "Doesn't it, though?"

"Yeah, especially if we use well-cooked steaks! Yum! And oh, the cheese!"

Paula's smile sagged a bit. "Um, Stu, that's not exactly what I had in..."

"Melted cheddar on steak! Nothing better!"

"Stu..."

"We're not going to use that spicy sauce, are we? That stuff burns my mouth..."

"No, were going to..."

"It gives me an allergic reaction. Great big blistering sores on my..."

Paula sighed. Sure, Stuart was a sweet guy, but he wasn't the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. Still, she loved him for who he was, warts and all.

"Just come by my place tonight, OK?" She said, smiling.

"OK! I'll bring the cheese!"

"I know you will."

Paula left the shop. This day was turning out to be very special indeed! He couldn't think of anything that could possibly ruin his mood!

He didn't know about the car.

Murdoc's Vauxhall Astra roared into the store, the engine moaning with power. The people in the aisles spiraled into a state of panic, screaming and leaving out of the gaping hole in the wall. Murdoc climbed out, screaming and pacing along with them.

"OH, THE HUMANITY! WHAT IDIOT WOULD EVEN THINK OF DOING SOMETHING SO VILE! I WANT A WARRANT DRAWN! ARREST THE MAN WHO- Oh, are they gone? Everyone's gone? Perfect."

He cackled with glee, making sure to grab a few keyboards before he had to run from the cops. But alas, he didn't grab them quick enough, as police officers soon approached the green-skinned bassist, guns drawn.

"Freeze! Hands in the air!"

Murdoc shot his arms upward, the keyboards tumbling from his hands. It seemed as if he would need to use his quick wit to escape this mess. Suddenly, he noticed Stuart's limp form on the ground, deep in a catatonic state from having the Astra crash into him face-first. An idea formed in Murdoc's head. He picked Stuart up and began to shake him vigorously.

"I told him, officers!" he said, pointing at Stu. "I told him not to drive! He's just learning, you know! Why didn't you listen, huh? Come on! You got us into this! What do you have to say for yourself?!"

Stu remained silent.

"See?" said Murdoc. "He's speechless with embarrassment!"

"Oh, come off it," said the officer closest to Murdoc. "We all know that's the nice boy who runs the store counter on the afternoon shift!"

"Oh, yeah?! Well... well... well, it was worth a try."

The police clamped handcuffs on the bassist, who groaned with disdain.


End file.
